


Aftermath

by Ancalime1



Series: In Silico [3]
Category: Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Gen, Hope vs. Despair, Internal Conflict, Post-Tron: Legacy, Sea of Simulation, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 01:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8125900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ancalime1/pseuds/Ancalime1
Summary: After the dogfight with Clu, Tron resurfaces in the Sea of Simulation.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Contains some psychologically-sensitive content.

Aftermath

 

He felt wonderfully light as the tide carried him ever closer to the shore.

Not that he particularly wanted to step foot on land again. He rather preferred the circumstances as they were, leaving him adrift and weightless amidst the waves. Here, he had no directive to adhere to, no tyrant to serve.

He was no longer Rinzler. He had been freed.

_“Tron… what have you become?”_

He gasped as the rogue audio file lodged itself into his processor. A sudden, ragged pain began to surge through his body, causing his circuits to flicker weakly before darkening completely. The file had taken him by surprise, had sprung onto him without explanation at his most vulnerable time. And while he was unable to identify the source of the file, a timestamp indicated that the audio had been documented less than a millicycle ago.

_Flynn._

He remembered now, remembered the deadly race to the portal. He was aboard a lightjet, climbing ever higher into the sky and closing in on the Flynns. He was within perfect proximity to end it then and there—Clu had even commanded him to take the shot—and, inexplicably, he had refused.

Perhaps, in that moment, he had finally come to his senses. Perhaps his base function as a security program had finally become aware of itself, and had proceeded to bypass even Clu’s meticulous rectifications. A part of him had still been there—had _always_ been there, waiting and fighting for the chance to break through. He wanted to cry out as Flynn’s horrified words overcame him once more, echoing through his processor in one seemingly endless loop. “It wasn’t my fault,” he rasped, voice hollow and unconvincing. “I… I had no choice.”

There was no use in saying the words aloud. Even if Flynn had heard him, he would not have believed him. Why should he, when Tron barely believed it himself?

He wished now that the struggle with Clu had derezzed him, had left no trace of him except a spray of thoughtless voxels drifting amidst the waves. At least then he would be free of the overwhelming guilt that gnawed at his being, guilt that he could have done something, could have fought back. _“I fight for the Users.”_ Why had it taken him so long to break through? How could he have been so idle, so _compliant_ in the wake of Clu’s tyranny? The screams of the oppressed programs, the pleas of the ISO colonies began to rattle through his processor, threatening to overload his system and force him into an emergency power-down. He was a security program. His base function was to protect the system, and he had failed. _I should have done something. I could have saved them. I…_

He had let himself get carried away. So much, in fact, that his body had become a deadweight, bound to be swallowed by the sea. He felt panic wrack at his processor as the waves began to lap hungrily at his visor, smothering him with liquid. But wasn’t this what he had wanted? He deserved to die after all, and he thought it fitting that he should do so alone. Letting his panic subside, he allowed himself to succumb to the pull of the sea.

“ _You’re my friend. If I’m going to build a new world, then I’m going to do it alongside you.”_

Another old audio file—one of his first, in fact. The voice again belonged to Flynn, and had been spoken upon Tron’s first encounter with the Grid. Flynn, the User who had valued him, had depended on him, had been well worth his sacrifice to Clu. His only regret was the weight of the exchange: the trading of one life for thousands of others, Flynn for the ISOs. Images flashed before his eyes, images of the havoc that had ensued during the genocide. He remembered the swarms of lightjets that drilled into towers filled with unsuspecting programs. He remembered the faces of the ISOs being executed in the streets, their beseeching eyes penetrating first through his helmet, then through his head. _What have I done?_

A sudden sense of urgency grappled him from his thoughts, and he allowed himself to rise to the surface. _I can’t let it happen again. I have to protect those who are left._ Over and over the words flew through his processor as he made for the shore, circuits blinking rapidly between orange and white. _I have to set things right._

He emerged with his hands clenched at his sides. He was tired, yes, but there was no time to lose. He had to get to the portal before—

It had already been activated. Of course.

He could see it now, the brilliant beam of light that had been launched from some distant sector and into the cloudless sky. He began to tremble as cold realization crept over him: Either the Flynns had escaped, or Clu had finally made it into the User world...

The ground began to quake. A hasty analysis informed him that somehow, the code of the landscape had been compromised. Tendrils of circuits wound their way along the shore, gradually decomposing from solid land into myriads of voxels. Micros later and he would collapse with it.

Of all the times he needed to ‘think fast,’ this was it. Yet his processor seemed to be caught in a lag, slow and dysfunctional and quite likely to get him killed. The ground beneath his feet shuddered and groaned, threatening to give way regardless of whether he was ready or not. A _crack_ split the air, and a huge black fissure opened up between him and the mainland. _Now or never,_ urged a voice in the back of his head, a voice oddly reminiscent of Flynn’s. Now or never indeed. Drawing in a sharp breath, he steeled himself and lunged across.

His body slammed onto the other side, and he gasped as the wind was briefly knocked out of him. Immediately his processor begin to throb with pain, and for a brief moment, he contemplated whether or not it was worth escaping after all. Yet a sense of determination drove him forward, and he continued to trudge in the direction of the portal.

Set things right. Protect those who are left.

“Fight for the users.”


End file.
